Service With a Smile
by Painbow
Summary: Buffy’s wacky adventures at the Doublemeat Palace (but not with WierdSnakeHead!Lady). Anyone with a vested interest in the glory of the fast food industry, just walk away...


Service With a Glued On Smile 

By "Painbow"

_Summary: _Buffy's wacky adventures at the Doublemeat Palace (but not with WierdSnakeHead!Lady). Anyone with a vested interest in the glory of the fast food industry...just walk away ;)

_A/N:_ I work in fast food, so I feel more then qualified to write a fic on Buffy's probable experiences behind the counter. Most of the events I based on stuff that happened to me or people I work with in the Wonderful World of Fast Food™ (well, except the Spike thing...that I just _wish _happened to me...that and the implied following events that I didn't write about 'cause I' incapable of writing smut...). Art imitating life imitating art and all that (not that this can be classified as art...slight delusions of grandeur there :) ).

This story was suggested by the ever-brilliant spikeNdru after I ranted (for 3 pages!) about a terrible day at work. Behold my catharsis! (again with the delusions...I'm seeing a psychiatrist soon...).

* * *

Buffy sat back and sighed. She'd just spent the last hour mopping the entire floor, back and front, of the Doublemeat Palace. It gleamed.

There was a certain sense of satisfaction in mopping a floor. It was normal, it was mindless, and it was hard enough work that one needed to focus. One didn't need to _think_. Besides, after a day of people tracking in whatever was on the street, spilling things, and just generally walking around, the floor really needed a good mopping.

She sighed again as she surveyed her handiwork. _Or mopiwok,_ she thought, then frowned. That didn't really sound right. And coming from her, the manufacturer of many a new word, that was saying something. Coming back from her tangent, she just couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction in completing a normal, everyday, and necessary task. Yes, monsters needed killing, but floors also needed mopping, and she was happy to do it.

As she reflected on her great contribution to the overall cleanliness of the world, her manager stepped up behind her.

"Buffy," she said, in a cheerful and smarmy voice, "I'm glad you're still here. I need you to help Trisha open tomorrow morning and stick around until Glen gets back from his doctor appointment. Who knew grease could burn so extensively..." she shrugged.

"Well, actually I—"

"Good to hear it!" she said, cutting Buffy off. Her manager frowned, looking in the corner. "You missed a spot," she pointed out, and then turned and disappeared into the back.

Buffy watched her depart, eyeing carefully the black, muddy footprints left in her wake. She sighed again and wrung out the mop.

"Come to Doublemeat, it's the Double treat," she sang wearily as slopped more water out on the floor. It had already been a long day, and it was about to get even longer.

* * *

"Hey Buffster! How's it hanging?" Xander stopped and analyzed his sentence, frown on his face. He smiled. "How 'bout I change that to 'how's it going?'"

Buffy smiled. "Probably best...so here for a visit?"

"Yeah, plus it's lunch time and I need some meaty goodness to tide me over 'til dinner."

"Watch out. Few more of these and you won't fit into your cummerbund."

Xander grimaced. "So says Anya. She's a little...tense."

Buffy grimaced in sympathy. "I noticed."

"So, can I have my marriage of chicken and cow now, or do I need to tip you a disgusting amount?"

"Actually, we can't take tips."

Xander looked surprised. "Really? Why not? I thought the job of all food servers was to go that extra mile for a crummy ten to fifteen percent."

Buffy shrugged. "Apparently we're considered 'PR' people, or something. Also the Manager says it'll make the people feel obliged to tip and that's bad for some reason. All I know is that there's a whole bunch of reasons why I can't accept people's change."

"Yeah, that's really dumb. People need to be able to bribe for better service."

"So," began Buffy, changing the subject as her manager walked by, "one Jumbo Mega Burger Meal?"

"Sure. May as well go for the heart attack."

"Ok, one serving of saturated fats, simple carbohydrates, and a pickle coming up." Buffy turned to get Xander's Jumbo Mega Burger Meal and Xander perused the custom present in the "Palace". Typical fast food customers. He shook his head and then noticed a man wearing a bike helmet sitting at the opposite end of the restaurant...staring.

Xander leaned across the counter when Buffy brought him his Meal. "Hey, Buf...who's that guy?"

Buffy looked at where Xander was pointing and blushed. "Um...he's my stalker."

Xander stared. "Demon?"

"Nope. Just some random guy. He comes in every other day, orders fries, and stares at me while he eats them. Occasionally he asks me out. We all call him Creepy Fry Guy."

Xander glowered. "D'you want me to kick his ass."

Buffy looked down. "No. Spike already offered." Xander's face became grimmer so Buffy quickly plowed on. "He's harmless. Just a little creepy and...well, not right in the head. I feel bad for him, really."

"But he makes you uncomfortable."

"Yeah...but it's no big."

Both Buffy and Xander noticed a change in the immediate vicinity. Creepy Fry Guy was _right there_.

"Hey...Buffy," he said as he smiled. It was...weird. Both Buffy and Xander were put off in some inexplicable, you're-disconcerting-and-we're-not-quite-sure-why way. It was...creepy.

He noticed Xander and looked a little downcast. "Is this your _boyfriend_...Buffy?"

"N—"

"Yes!" Xander flung his arm around Buffy's shoulder and pulled her up against his side. As she was on the other side of the counter, it was really uncomfortable.

"Oh." Creepy Fry Guy looked down. "Bye...Buffy." He turned and left. Xander and Buffy both watched his progress. Just outside the door, while he was unlocking his bike, a small dog barked at him. He responded by cursing at the dog. A passing sailor looked up, startled, and began to blush.

Buffy and Xander stared as Fry Guy insulted the small dog, or would have, had the dog spoken English. The passers by, however, definitely spoke English, and were insulted enough to make up for the dog's lack of understanding.

After a while Xander spoke. "Well, I think we just put a finger on the whole 'creepy' factor."

Buffy nodded, still staring. "Uh huh."

* * *

"Miss!" exclaimed a shrill, yet still male, voice.

Buffy tensed, attempted to relax, fixed a pleasant smile on her face, and turned. "yes, sir?"

"Miss! My food was terrible!"

Buffy groaned internally. This was the third customer complaint _today. _Why her? "I'm sorry you didn't like the food sir. What specifically was wrong, so we can take it into consideration for next time?"

The man turned red in the face. 'It was terrible! The fries were too dry, the burger was too salty, the patty was all brown, the buns were crumbly, and you gave me Coke instead of Pepsi! I want a refund!"

Buffy tried to maintain her temper. It would be so easy to snap this guy like a twig. "Well, _sir,_ fries, in my experience are meant to be dry. You're the first person who's ever complained about that. The burger was salty because you added a lot of salt. Patties are _supposed _to be brown. That's how you know they're cooked. The buns were fine until you picked them to pieces on the table, and of course we gave you Coke! It's what we serve! We don't _have_ Pepsi!"

Snapping out of the fantasy where she could talk to a customer like that and not get fired, Buffy fixed a slightly tenser smile on her face. "Well, sir, unless you've brought the food you don't want back to the counter, I'm afraid I can't offer you a refund."

The man turned beet red and huffed. "Well! Your manager will be hearing about this!" He stormed out of the building.

Buffy turned her eyes heavenward in prayer. _Whatever's up there, give me the strength to deal with shrill, little, rude men._ When she looked down a little old lady blinked at her from behind thick spectacles.

"Why, hello dear," she said politely, "I'd like a medium coffee."

"Oh, I'm sorry," replied Buffy. "We don't have medium. Only small and large."

The lady blinked. "Ah," she said. "Well, in that case I'll have a medium."

"We don't have a medium," said Buffy, in the tones on someone who's explained this many times (but not necessarily to the same person), "only small and large."

The lady blinked again. "Only small and large? No medium?"

"No medium."

Blink. "Why no medium?"

"I don't know."

"There really should be a medium."

"Yes, there should." _So I won't have to explain this over and over and over..._

"Well...I really would prefer a medium."

"I'm sorry." _...and over and over and over and over..._

"It's the perfect size, you know..."

"It is, isn't it." _...and over and over and over and over and over..._

Blink, blink. "Well...I guess I'll just get a...the small is so small. But the large is too big...you're sure there's no medium?"

"No medium." _...and over and over..._

"Hmm...well I guess I'll just get a cookie."

"Ma'am?"

"Yes, dear."

"We don't serve cookies..."

* * *

Buffy ground her teeth. This guy was the most annoying customer _ever_! And what was worse was that he didn't even know it!

"Have you decided yet?" she asked carefully, trying to hide her irritation.

"Not yet, luv. What's better? The Jumbo Mega Burger Meal or the Jumbo Mega Chicken Meal?"

"What does it matter? You don't even eat food!"

Spike raised an eyebrow. "No need to get testy, pet. I just want to make sure I get my money's worth."

"Why are you tormenting me?" she asked.

He looked taken aback. "I'm not tormenting you. I'm helping."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "In what _way_ are you helping me?" she asked, barely controlling her temper.

"I'm giving you a customer," he replied, smirking.

"Spike," she said carefully, "more customers does not really help me, as I get paid the same no matter how many people I serve."

"Yeah, but if business goes down they won't call you in for as many shifts, you won't get as much money, and you'll have a hard time payin' your bills. See. 'M helping." He smiled, not a little smugly.

Buffy clenched her jaw again. "Spike, you're indecisive, rude, you pay entirely in nickels and pennies, and you're holding up the line. Again I ask, in what way are you helping me?"

Spike flashed her a hurt look. "'M just trying to do my part," he mumbled. "You won't let me do anything else...well," he looked up slyly, "there is one thing..."

The brief flash of guilt Buffy had felt disappeared. "Spike," she seethed, "make up your mind, or later I'll remove what's left of it."

Spike leaned across the counter until he was millimeters from her ear. "Promise?" he whispered roughly, then he pushed himself away from the counter and strode out the door.

Buffy stood stalk still to regain her composure. After a few seconds she turned to the next customer. "Hi," she smiled, fixedly, "how-may-I-help-you?"

* * *

Buffy sighed. She looked at her newly moped floor. If there was one good thing about this job, it was the moping.

Today had been a circus, no question. Juice had been spilled, ketchup also. It had rained for a brief period, and everyone and their dog (which was, technically, not allowed in the store) had tracked mud in. She looked at Florence (her name for the floor...she spent so much time cleaning it, she figured it should have a name). It gleamed again.

This was the best part of her day. Clean floor (or Florence...she giggled a little to herself). Clean floor meant a job well done. Clean floor meant it was the end of the day. Clean floor meant that she could go home. Double shifts sucked, especially when you worked the till for most of it. The cookers may get spattered with hot oil and go home smelling like a marriage of chicken and beef, but at least they didn't have to deal with _people._

"Bye Buffy!" Glen called, as he walked out the front door. Of course she hadn't gone home when he'd arrived. She'd worked a double.

She eyed his trail of dirty footprints, marring Florence. She contemplated breaking the broom handle and chasing him with the pointy wooden bit until she either stabbed him in the heart or beat him senseless with it...either way, could work.

She sighed, dipped the mop in the water, squeezed it out with the wringer, and began to work on the trail of footprints. Xander had said that most people went weird when the worked fast food too long. Good thing she wasn't like most people...

**The End**


End file.
